The Rock They Broke Themselves Against
by Maribor
Summary: Everyone thinks they can handle loving the Doctor and nearly everyone is wrong. Amy/Rory/11. A post "The Doctor, The Widow and the Wardrobe" short.


**_Just a little one shot. My favorite OT3, Amy/Roy/11 as always. The line, "He usually left them quietly sobbing." came to me as I was trying to sleep and this is the result. _****_I say it's a one shot, but in many ways I can see it fitting in as the barely spoken of scene in "Epistolary" about what happened when the Doctor showed up for Christmas. In case you can't tell I'm a bit obsessed with what occurs after he walks inside and shuts the door. Anyways, take this any way you will and I hope you enjoy it._****  
**

**The Rock They Broke Themselves Against**

He usually left them quietly sobbing, his lovers.

They were so quickly overwhelmed, his humans. Time Lord mating rituals lasted three days and were a slow, deliberate process of unveiling and revealing. The mind was the first day, the body the next and finally the soul was an exploration of both at once. For his human lovers he had to condense the experience, distill it while maintaining it's beauty.

When he made the decision, when he cast those eyes on them and they realized he was finally agreeing, they were frightened. Their instincts weren't as keen as his, compared to a Time Lord, their evolution was in its infancy but they sensed it. They sensed that the experience might be more than they could handle. That was when he took them in his arms and simply held them, before the love making, before the undressing, before even an initial kiss. He just _held_ them.

They never understood how carefully he watched them. How every adventure, every gasp, every surprise, every laugh, every confession provided a small bit of information.

_He _ liked to be kissed just there.

_She _ liked to be nibbled just here.

_He _ would enjoy if you just ran a slender finger gently across here.

They never understood how day after day, without intending to they were telegraphing to him how they needed to be spoken to and guided and how, if the time came, if their relationship moved in that direction, how to be made love to. It rarely did. He chose his companions carefully and not because he wanted to bed them but because he wanted to run away with them and he wanted the best. Because as selfish as he was, all he wanted, all he _ever_ wanted was to give them an experience they could never forget and that included in bed.

How could they imagine that the way they reacted to textures, sounds, the tastes that pleased them, informed him as a lover not just what they needed but that it would allow him to whisper to them _why_ they needed it? They didn't expect to hear their needs, their desires repeated back to them, acknowledged, fulfilled and they never expected to hear, 'It's ok' and 'I know'. Those were the words he said most often to them. "I know, my love, I know." That gentle acceptance was usually what pushed them over the edge.

They tried to set a pace, eager, lusty and he quickly overrode it. As with everywhere else on the TARDIS he was in charge and they quickly understood how much better it was that way. Eventually they were wrapping gentle arms around him, desperately bending to his will.. He discovered places, hidden moments on their bodies that even they didn't know about. And that's what they were, little tiny bursts of moments waiting to happen. A moment where the jaw began just below the ear. A moment halfway up the inner thigh. A moment just on the underside of the swell of a breast. They didn't understand their bodies were composed of moments, instances, experiences, little explosive bursts, miniature fixed points in time and forks in the road waiting to happen. He could see them all. He could read their bodies like star charts, he navigated them, and they orbited around his hands his lips his tongue, he was their North Star.

They exploded against his lips so softly, so initially afraid of what he was doing to their bodies. He was unlike any lover they'd had or would ever have and it was, at first, scary.

'It's too much...' They'd say.

I know. I'm here.

Doctor, I...

I know. I'm here.

I love you.

I know. I'm here.

He brought them to orgasm after orgasm, purposefully increasing their intensity until the final one. He overwhelmed them, he loved them so completely, moving inside their bodies, their minds, their souls, that the tears only came naturally. It was joy, if it had been anything other it would have disturbed him so greatly he probably would have embraced true celibacy.

He turned them inside out because it was the only way he knew to connect.

This was why he turned them away, initially and sometimes ultimately. This was how you ruined a human. This was the last step of possessing them. This was the moment in which they became irrevocably his. There was never any turning back and this was sometimes the last adventure they shared together. Often they couldn't handle it. Often it meant that despite how close they now were, this was the time they chose to leave him.

They usually couldn't quite meet his eyes the next morning. They were so blushy and embarrassed as they remembered how exposed they were, how he had revealed all of them. How they had wept so uncontrollably in his arms. They always said they were ready, that they understood, but they never were, they never could be.

They counted themselves such complicated puzzles and he respected that as he worshipped their bodies, even though he had them pegged after ten or so minutes in the TARDIS. He moved inside their minds though he didn't have to. But it was so alluring, so intoxicating and it was a level of intimacy he required in the experience.

The final moment was the one they shared was when the orgasmed together. He gave off just the slightest hint of regeneration energy, his skin glowed a soft golden just for a moment and as he emptied inside them they glowed briefly too. It would stay within them, that energy, for the rest of their lives, they'd heal a bit quicker from then on, never catch another cold, they'd always look more vibrant, more youthful, more alive than their contemporaries. They'd always carry him inside them.

And then they'd cry. They'd reach for him, clumsily and they never looked quite so young and he'd never feel quite so old. He would gather them up against his chest and stroke their hair, whisper their names and tell them that it was all alright. He'd tell them he loved them and he'd mean it, it would burn in him like the furnace of the stars. He didn't make love lightly and he'd tell them so. He'd tell them how he let the centuries stretch on between these occurrences. He'd tell them he loved them and to go to sleep. And he'd answer their deepest fear so that they didn't have to ask.

_I'm not going anywhere. I'll be here when you wake. The TARDIS is your home, as long as you want it to be._

They'd curl into his body and he'd dry their tears as sleep claimed them.

That was how it always happened.

Always.

Until Christmas.

He'd shown up on their doorstep, unsure of even his own intentions. Of course he'd wanted to see them. Of course he'd missed them. Of course he felt guilty that he'd allowed them to mourn him. They'd been testy at first, after the initial welcome, the interrogation, the explosion of anger, the accusations of lack of trust, the apologies, mostly from him. All over an excessive Christmas feast with voices rising and falling in a most un-British sort of way.

But they forgave him, completely and in the end they all retired to the lounge for Christmas biscuits, telly and a closeness he'd so desperately missed. He knew they wanted him. There'd been hints dropped and an aborted seduction attempt. Now seemed like the perfect time and his hearts swelled at the thought of being sheltered by his dearest friends.

He let them know with a glance and they had the expected, desired response. They looked at him, then each other and lowered their gazes. He took the lead, kissing Amy the way he'd yearned to for ages and surprised when Rory took the initiative and kissed him. Gentle, passionate kisses on the couch, soft touches, discarded jumpers, groping of once forbidden flesh and then the embrace. He wrapped his arms around both of them, closing his eyes, breathing in his Ponds.

Bedroom? she had asked and they'd both nodded. It had been so pleasant to let Amy lead them, she clasped Rory's hand who in turn grabbed his and like a glorious chain he was pulled forward.

He tried to guide them, tried to take the initiative but they had other plans. In fact, they truly did seem to have a course of action they were pursuing. After ten or so minutes when they had disrobed him, laid him on the bed and flanked his body he began to wonder who really got the ball rolling?

Suddenly, like never before, he found himself unable to keep up. It wasn't because there were two of them, he'd been in various multiple couplings before. But they had a skill for which he could not account. Had they been paying attention to him, taking mental notes, imagining how they would please him should they get the chance? It appeared so.

They found all _his_ moments. His special places, untouched, so sensitive with age and neglect that he opened himself to them eagerly. His forgotten needs, the old and foreboding map of his body they explored boldly.

_Here there be dragons_, he thought.

Was he warning them? Even so, they ignored it and pressed on. He ghosted through their minds and in a way that had happened only once before with humans they walked through the door themselves.

_A door, once opened, may be stepped through in either direction._

He whispered, or rather tried to whisper to them between kisses and moans that if there was anything they didn't want him to see all they need do was shut the door. It was usually at this that his lovers did their best to shield things from him. In their sweet modesty they didn't so much close doors as pull shades, block entrances. He could still have seen what lay there had he wanted to but they trusted him and he would never violate that trust. But the Ponds, oh God...he found himself in the corridors of their minds and every door lay open, each and every one was just a frame, no lock, no door of which to even speak. And in front of each one they stood, beckoning him to enter if he wished.

And the Doctor was overwhelmed.

He cried out against their mouths, against Amy's neck. Rory's chest. And they responded with:

_We know, Doctor._

_We're here._

_Ponds I..._

_We know, Doctor._

_We're here._

_I missed you both so bloody much._

_We know, Doctor._

_We're here._

_Let us make love to you_.

And he did.

They worked in tandem and by Rassilon they found his moments, they whispered what they knew he needed to hear and feel. Taking blissful turns they brought his body to the peak, eased him gently down and returned him there again. Rory's mouth, Amy's warmth. Rory firm and unyielding. Amy soft and wet. Rory's body above him. Then Amy beneath him.

This was helplessness. This was that impossibly safe helplessness his lovers always felt with him.

They paired and coupled together, each body connected to the other and when they came, all together, all at once, they all glowed. He was bookended by Ponds, each shining like beacons around him, golden energy rising from their skin like sacred mist and he felt as though he were in a holy place.

And then the tears. He had cried when they'd welcomed him into their home and here he was crying again as they welcomed him into their bed and their bodies. He tried to turn away. This level of vulnerable _hurt_, it actually hurt his hearts and rather than sink into them he had the urge to run.

But they held him, and kissed him and sniffled along side him.

_We love you, Doctor, we're not going anywhere, for as long as you'll have us._

Oh _God_...

And that was all and he sobbed against them both broken and healed.

Head on Amy's breasts, Rory at his back, strong arms around his waist. His breath hitched as they petted and stroked him, kissed and cuddled him, cocooned his body with theirs.

An hour or so later, as they slept against him, he said it.

I love you, too.

Faint smiles bloomed on both their faces at almost the same time, visible even in the dark.

He usually left them sobbing, his lovers that is, in one way or another at least.

But tonight, Christmas night, a Pond in each arm he could scarcely imagine ever leaving them at all.

**Thanks for reading and please review and let me know what you think. Thanks!**


End file.
